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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880436">pathways of primrose</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/meshizuru/pseuds/meshizuru'>meshizuru</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble, Emotional Baggage, Insecurity, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Komaeda's Death, Unpleasant Memories of Enoshima Junko, and it's all hinata wanted, komaeda wakes up, post-dr3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:28:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,180</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/meshizuru/pseuds/meshizuru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>All paths lead somewhere. Maybe some people are just destined to end up together, no matter how much they run away.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>pathways of primrose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was no way of knowing what was going in that simulation.</p><p> </p><p>That’s what drove Hinata the maddest. He figured <em> that </em>out pretty quickly.</p><p> </p><p>The blue fluorescents have become more normal than sunlight, which is worrying. He’d heard concern when he’d initially flinched at the beams peeking through the door during Tsumiki's last check-up on him. She seemed horrified at the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the sluggish movements he’d made when he took hold of the tray she was giving him.</p><p> </p><p>Similarly, when Souda dropped off some parts for him, he’d told him he looked “worse than shit” and “like he’d died or something”, only to promptly realize how awful that latter comment sounded—given all they’d been through—and sheepishly laugh it off and make an awkward leave.</p><p> </p><p>He’s getting tired of visits, honestly. Seeing everyone else bustling about while he was still here, waiting in the dark, agonizing over the rehabilitation program.</p><p> </p><p>While Komaeda was still asleep.</p><p> </p><p>It was almost insulting, even though it shouldn’t be. It feels unfair. But of course, the one who’s going to torment him, and take the longest to wake up...of course it would be him. It’s a fucked up thought to have, but sometimes he wishes the others would’ve taken their sweet time like this. Maybe then it’d feel less <em> hopeless</em>, the endeavor of saving Komaeda.</p><p> </p><p>It’s driving him about as insane as wondering what the hell was going wrong each time. Each try. He’d have lost count by now if it weren’t for the fact World Destroyer was keeping a tally of all his miserable failures, each time he’s tweaked the program, changed the world Komaeda will find himself waking up in, the circumstances that should eventually lead to his waking. </p><p> </p><p>It’s sort of pathetic, how desperate he is. A rather annoying part of his brain itches at him, tells him he should just give up, give in, and let Komaeda die. After all, that’s probably what Komaeda wants—if he weren’t currently in comatose, he’d probably tell Hinata to do that. To pull the plug, disconnect him from those tubes feeding into his body, to cut off his air. To just let him <em> go</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But he can’t.</p><p> </p><p>Why? Why is he here, refusing to leave his side? Losing sleep, eating irregularly, and feeling what scraps of his sanity are left deteriorate...for someone like Komaeda. After everything that happened, all the stress and suffering he caused, especially the bout he'd inflicted upon Hinata specifically—why is he so caught up in Komaeda of all people?</p><p> </p><p>He asks himself this regularly, acts as if he really needs to ponder it, and pretends to not know the answer each time. </p><p> </p><p>But he does. Everyone probably does, at this fucking point. It’s beyond a healthy, human amount of concern, to sit day-in, day-out, outside his pod, waiting. Counting the days, the failures. To continuously stare through the tinted glass of the pod, and observe the pale, gaunt figure lying there, practically a corpse, strung up to a machine keeping him alive despite all odds that demanded his death.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not normal human behavior, to look at Komaeda, half-dead as he is, and still feel the insistent urge, the tickle in his palms and at the tips of his fingers, to hold that hollowed-out face, and swallow the shallow, broken breath between his lips, and feel his heartbeat thrum against his own chest as he keeps him close.</p><p> </p><p>No, it’s not healthy one bit. He’s <em> sick</em>, losing his mind, isn’t he? If he didn’t already lose it when he’d let Hope’s Peak have free range inside and wipe his very existence from his own brain, he’s certainly lost it now. Because of <em> Komaeda</em>, of course.</p><p> </p><p>With a heavy sigh, Hinata lays back against the cold, metal floor; he drags his hands down his face, and then cards them through muddy brown hair. He drops his arms above his head, staring up at the ceiling with tired eyes, his little project abandoned beside him alongside an open toolbox. He’s exhausted. He can’t even remember when he slept last, which is most definitely concerning.</p><p> </p><p>Eyelashes flutter. The world blurs. He starts to fade out, drift off, despite the floor being anything but comfortable. Maybe he’ll finally be able to get some sleep. What a blessing that’d be. He exhales, heavy and tired, and lets his eyes shut.</p><p> </p><p><em> Beep beep beep</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Shock shoots up his spine and jerks him forward into a sitting position, mismatched eyes wide as he hears the machine whirring at him. His own voice meets his ears from the computers set up on one end of the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Simulation number 77.0 complete. Result: Successful.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Hinata scrambles to his feet, and struggles to not tumble over like a pile of bricks and hit the ground facefirst. He has to wonder if he’s dreaming—he’d just nearly fallen asleep, after all. Maybe he actually had, and this was his brain’s cruel nightmare created for him, and something horrid would be waiting for him when he reached the computer. It wasn’t uncommon he dreamed of that haunting scene that unfolded in the warehouse, the image of Komaeda lying there was practically burned into his brain. Pure, abject horror tearing apart his expression, blood soaking his clothes, skin mutilated by his own hand, and a spear pierced straight through his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>...He’d prefer to not think of that right now.</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell do you mean successful?” The words come out breathless, disbelief coating every inch of his tone. </p><p> </p><p>“He has retrieved his memories, and I have been able to successfully restore his mind and consciousness. He is able to be recovered from his comatose state. Would you like to commence his awakening?”</p><p> </p><p>“Wha—holy shit,” Hinata can’t form an actual response. His eyes are blown wide, staring at the screen with disbelief, reading over the results, analyzing the lines of code stringing together Komaeda’s consciousness, and preparing him to finally, finally return to him. His fingers are shaking, <em> every </em>part of him is shaking, actually, as he types, clicking at the keys, going through every bit of information now presented to him.</p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head, pats the side of his cheek with a light <em> smack </em>, and finds the ability to actually use his words again.</p><p> </p><p>“Commence awakening <em> immediately</em>.” Hinata’s glad the AI can’t exactly make fun of him for his desperate, pleading tone, though he feels mortified with it anyways. He swallows thickly, and it goes down rough, like there’s gravel in his throat, with a quiet cough that scratches at the back of it.</p><p> </p><p>The screen flickers with new lines of code at the command, starting up a new program. The one Hinata’s already seen run and succeed a total of nine times. The sight makes him feel like his breath is caught in his throat, and has the childish urge to pinch himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Commencing awakening of Subject 10: Komaeda Nagito.”</p><p> </p><p>For every other awakening so far, Hinata’s gathered everyone to greet them before actually going through with it. That thought doesn’t even cross his mind right now. The world might as well not fucking exist. All that exists is this room, himself, and the man lying in that stupid pod.</p><p> </p><p>Hinata turns on his heel quickly and finds himself at the pod’s side embarrassingly fast. Hears the whirring of a machine, feels like the lights are burning brighter than normal. Waits, like he’s been doing this entire time, but feels his veins pulse with an urgent fervor, wracking his body with an anxiety that seizes his chest and holds his breath in it’s palm. He has to ball his hands into fists, just to ignore how badly he’s shaking.</p><p> </p><p>And then, Komaeda wakes up.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Crystalline fragments of light seep into Komaeda's vision, a tealish blue-white the dominating hue among the rainbow while his head spins and tries to come to. </p><p> </p><p>Haze. That's all it is, really. He has to wonder if it's the welcoming light of the afterlife, finally enveloping him. If he’s finally escaped his luck, once and for all. </p><p> </p><p>Then he finally makes out shapes, watches them fall into place. He sees new colors. </p><p> </p><p>Green. And red. Wide with shock, anticipation. They stare down at him as something lifts up above him, and stuffy air fills his lungs, albeit less stuffy than what had just been surrounding him.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey...can you hear me?"</p><p> </p><p>The voice is familiar. It stings at his ears, but it's not unpleasant. Every sound is ringing right now, turning any semblance of coherent thought into further mess. He sighs beneath his breath, more like a groan, when he tries to move and sit up.</p><p> </p><p>A hand is outstretched in his vision, offering itself to him. He doesn’t feel like he can move at first, and just stares at it. Stares at the face in his vision.</p><p> </p><p>Memories start to piece together, though it’s hardly one at a time. It feels slow, like he’s only gathering fragments of what he should know, but at the same time...all of it’s hitting him like a freight train. It’s terrifying. But his smile remains calm as he gazes up at the face above him.</p><p> </p><p>“Kamukura Izuru?” His voice is tired, just a mumble beneath his breath. It’s slow and heavy, dragging itself out of his mouth. He blinks, and inhales sharply. “No, you’re...Hinata-kun, right? I suppose I should thank you for waking me up?”</p><p> </p><p>He lifts his hand to finally take the one offered to him.</p><p><br/>
That’s when he sees it.</p><p> </p><p>Skin, made pale enough to nearly match his own by the withers of time—it peels and decays, blisters in shades of purple, green, gray. The fingers are limp, cold, but adorned anyways with red, sharp stiletto nails, kept nice and neat, despite the rest of it. Bandages are wrapped neatly around his wrist, but have started to loosen, with however long was kept in that pod. He can see the stitches peek from beneath, messy and uneven. </p><p> </p><p>He remembers.</p><p> </p><p>The memories seep in slow, painful, like molasses filling his lungs with a suffocating ache. The air feels heavy with a scent that’s painfully familiar, swarming him with the smell of roses, violets, and a sickening sugar, it might as well be clawing at his skin and drawing blood. It’s disgusting. He wants to vomit. His head spins, the world around him disappearing in a drab grayscale, but <em> her</em>… she’s bursting apart with nauseating color, enveloping his mind, his memories. He hates her, wants her dead, wants to tear her hand off his own flesh, watch the blood pour once again. But he loves her, wants her close, to feel her soothing facade of an embrace, the gentle lure into horror beyond his control.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a touch to his cheek. It’s hers, isn’t it? He can feel the scratch of nails on his cheekbone, coaxing him into a quiet nightmare, grounding him in subservience. He feels compelled to fall to his knees, despite already lying down. He wants to clamor at her feet, hatred and adoration swirling in his chest. He feels himself laughing more than he hears it. The ringing is back, he can’t hear a thing, until—</p><p> </p><p>“Komaeda?”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes slowly become clear, lucid once more, as if the dark clouds have parted and allowed the world, <em> his </em> world to come back into view. There’s a face right in front of his, swallowing his entire view, staring at him with concern. The hand on his cheek is on both sides now, and he realizes the nails had been a mere phantom of a memory. These hands are warm, in a way that doesn’t feel like a false comfort.</p><p> </p><p>“Your eyes,” Hinata breathes, brows knit inward in concern as he stares down at him. “They were—”</p><p> </p><p>“...Don’t touch me,” Komaeda’s voice cracks in his throat, crumbles apart. He can feel himself shaking as he tries to gently pull away from Hinata’s touch. He has nowhere to move, trapped against the bottom of the pod, so he has to wait for Hinata to process his words, blink dully, and then clear his throat as he retracts his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“You looked terrified,” Hinata says simply, swallowing a lump in his throat. His hands are uselessly hovering in front of him, while Komaeda recoils back like a wounded animal.</p><p> </p><p>Silence hangs heavy in the air, while Komaeda grips <em> her </em> wrist in his healthy hand, staring at it. His expression is unreadable, but he’s in horror, reliving every single moment of who he’d become, of falling to <em> despair</em>. How could he—?</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the last one up,” Hinata’s voice breaks the silence, shattering through his harrowing thoughts. Komaeda flicks his eyes back up to look at him, sighing shakily, his fingers stuttering as they traced the stitching. “The others are waiting.”</p><p> </p><p>Hinata clears his throat once again, scratching at the back of his neck, and after a moment of just standing there, he holds his hand out once more. The other one, this time. </p><p> </p><p>Komaeda accepts it.</p>
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